


Check Plus One

by volti



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/pseuds/volti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette is finally going to do it. She's finally going to ask Adrien on a date.</p><p>Of course, this poses a bit of a problem when he asks her first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check Plus One

**Author's Note:**

> YELLS. I swear, I've been working on this fic for over two months. I'm so excited to finally be sharing it with you guys, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also, [here is Adrien's playlist,](https://open.spotify.com/user/12175133490/playlist/3KYmDOPIUpG8f8MJayv9cv) if you'd like to listen!

Marinette was going to do it.

She was finally going to ask Adrien on a date.

Not that she knew what they were going to do. Or where they were going to go. Or even what she was going to say. Which could probably pose a problem. ( _Definitely_ pose a problem. How was she supposed to ask him on a date if she couldn't even tell him hello without tripping over herself?) But if she didn't do it today, she'd probably never have the courage to do it again. 

At the very least, she'd wait until the end of the school day. Take the day to gather herself, tell no one except for Alya and let her encouraging words and hand squeezes under the table seep into her. And maybe Tikki's, too, if she decided to pop up and share a few choice words. Maybe her mind would be clear enough that she'd actually remember what her lunch tasted like. Or maybe she'd spend literature class stealing glances at the back of Adrien's head and making up a script in her head. But she had to do it. She _had_ to do it.

_Adrien! How's it going?_

No, that wasn't right.

_Hey, Adrien, what are you doing this weekend?_

No, that was too forward. Not that he was obligated to say yes or anything, but she didn't have to pigeonhole him, either.

_Hi, Adrien, how are you? Could I ask you something?_

That wasn't too persistent, was it? Would it do? Well, it would have to, because she'd only thought of it with twenty minutes left in the day, and far be it from her to not spend those last twenty minutes mentally preparing herself for the whole thing. _Hi, Adrien, how are you? Could I ask you something? Hi, Adrien, how are you? Could I ask you something? Hi, Adrien, how are you? Could I ask you something?_ Was this even normal? Did everyone else sit on their hands or bite their lips over the person sitting in front of them? Did everyone else choke up at the thought of having to talk to another person?

"Hey." Alya was whispering to her, sliding a folded piece of paper her way with a reassuring smile while Miss Bustier was scratching away at the chalkboard.

_You've got this. And I know you're rehearsing something in your head, and I promise it's better than you're thinking. Or overthinking. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?_

Well. He could say no. That was the worst that could happen. And then she'd have to spend the rest of the school year in class with him. And he'd have to sit there knowing that the person behind him was head over heels for him. And he'd probably feel so awkward that he'd move to a different seat, or transfer classes, and he'd probably go to a different high school to avoid her altogether, and—

The bell rang then, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts, and she jolted to her feet, stick-straight and staring right at the chalkboard with a weird tunnel vision that she couldn't place. Which, of course, caught everyone's attention. Alya reached out to touch her hand, and Chloe and Sabrina made no effort to cover up their jeers and giggles from the other side of the room, and Adrien turned to give her an apologetic smile, as if to ask her if she was okay.

Well, _now_ she was okay. Maybe. If glances from crushes were supposed to heal bruised egos, anyway. Slackening, she gathered up her belongings and slipped out of the classroom to the sound of Miss Bustier rattling off homework assignments. She counted each step, just to be safe, just to quiet the questions and the doubts in her head, and Alya made it a point to stop by her locker on her way out of the building.

"Need moral support?" she asked with a grin.

"More like a barf bag," Marinette groaned. And then a toothbrush. Or one of those rings you could play with to ease your jitters. Nathaniel had one of those, didn't he?

Alya laughed—"I think that might be a little much"—and pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, gently pushing her to walk toward Adrien's locker. "Now or never, Marinette."

Right. Now or never.

Counting her steps again, and with Alya at her side, she shuffled to Adrien's open locker door. He was talking to Nino in hushed tones about something she couldn't quite make out, and her hand was shaking, again, when she reached out to tap his shoulder.

If he gave a start, it was subtle—definitely more so than she could ever be, but he was poised like that. Raised like that. He turned, slowly, and—was he blushing? No, of course not. He never blushed when he saw her. Except when he saw Ladybug, sometimes, but Ladybug was Ladybug, and she was Marinette, and there was no way Adrien had put two and two together. "Marinette," he said, and it sounded like breathing. (She was still breathing, right?) "I was just about to look for you."

"I, uh, oh—" What was she supposed to say again? How are hi? Something I could ask? Of course this was bound to happen the instant she let her guard down.

"You could start with a 'hi,'" Alya whispered with a nudge, stepping aside to link arms with Nino. And then, to Adrien, "We'll leave you two to it, then." 

They were already walking off before Marinette could call out to them.

Great. Here she was, alone with Adrien, completely forgetting everything she wanted to say to him. And he was clearing his throat, too—did he want her to leave? Because she could definitely leave. She could always have courage another time—

No. She'd promised Alya this much. She'd promised _herself_ this much. She was going to do it. One deep breath, and the words would just have to come out, even if they were kicking and screaming.

"I-I wanted to ask you something." 

It wasn't until she'd gotten the words out that she realized Adrien had been talking, too. And that he'd said the exact same thing. They stuttered and insisted, back and forth, that the other go first, until Adrien finally relented with his hands in his pockets. He was definitely blushing this time.

"Well, you see..." He spoke while he closed his locker door and slipped the padlock back into place—maybe he was trying to distract himself? Gosh, why hadn't she thought of that? It was perfect. "You see, my father."

Marinette sobered instantly.

Adrien waved his hands in front of him, catching his bag before it slipped off his shoulder. "No, no, nothing bad! Well. Nothing terrible, anyway. It's just. One of his friends is getting married in a couple of weeks. One of those corporate bigwigs, you know...? He designed the dress for the bride, and so, we both have to go, and, well..." He took a deep breath—was he actually _nervous?_ She didn't know he was capable of that. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. As my plus one. I mean—" He gripped his bag a little more tightly and scuffed his heel against the floor. "It'll probably be pretty boring, since it's mostly adults, but—"

She short circuited. There wasn't any other way to explain it. She could barely form a sentence, could barely register anything outside of the fact that _Adrien was asking her out._ At least. That was what it sounded like. "I-I. Um?" Would she really fit in at a wedding? At a high-class event like that? Her, standing next to Adrien Agreste? She'd stick out like a sore thumb—not in the good way, but since when were sore thumbs ever a good thing?

Adrien was frowning now. "Do... you not want to go? I mean, I understand if you don't, I know these kinds of things aren't exactly for kids—"

Marinette stiffened, and her stomach lurched. "No! No, it's not that. It's, it's not that at all, it's just. I-I'm. Surprised? Because," she added when Adrien's brow furrowed and his lips quirked, "I didn't... think you would have asked me?"

"Who else would I have asked?"

This time, Marinette was the one to scuff her heel as her gaze dropped to the floor. "Chloe, probably. Or Lila."

Adrien leaned back against his locker door—if he weren't standing right there, Marinette might have let out a dreamy sigh. "I don't know Lila as well as I know you. And I'm sure Chloe's already been invited. You know how her father is about things like this." He rubbed his arm awkwardly, crossing one ankle over the other. "I'd enjoy your company, Marinette, if you'd like to come."

"I—I mean, that is to say, I love—wait, _no,_ I mean—" She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, sighed. "I'd love to go with you."

Adrien's face lit up when he turned to look at her, and for more than one flicker of more than one moment, she couldn't believe she'd had that effect on him. "Really? You will? Great! It's a d—" He stopped himself and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, it doesn't have to be a date, not if you don't want it to be a date—"

She swallowed, hard, and realized she'd dropped her backpack. Her knees were practically knocking together as she bent forward to pick it up. "I-it's a date."

And then she ran, right out of the locker area, straight past Alya and Nino, honking cars, her parents at the bakery, right up to her room, and shrieked into a pillow.

———

"Well?"

Marinette chewed her lip. "I didn't ask him."

Alya groaned over the phone. "Mari _nette_ —"

"He asked me."

"What?"

"And I said yes."

" _What?!_ "

———

A date.

What was she _thinking?_ She barely knew the first thing about weddings, aside from whatever they showed in movies, and the occasionally photo her father brought home from events he'd helped cater. Curled hair and cocktail dresses, linked arms, and lots of crying. God, she'd probably tear up before the ceremony even began. And Chloe would probably snap embarrassing pictures to text absolutely everybody, if she were there. And then there'd probably be socializing with all those adults, and socializing with Adrien, and dancing probably—

Oh, God.

Dancing.

She didn't know the first thing about dancing. Not formally, anyway. She was pretty sure whatever she did around her bedroom with a hairbrush as a fake microphone didn't exactly count for a wedding. Adrien probably knew how to dance. He'd mentioned being homeschooled a while back. Maybe his father had sent him to charm school or something, to learn all that stuff about table manners and ballroom dancing and being "the right kind of gentleman." (Not that he had to even try—everything about him practically screamed it.) He'd probably look like royalty next to her, if she could even take two steps in high heels without stumbling. 

She'd tried them before. Chat Noir was right about making them illegal.

Heaving a sigh that blew her bangs from her forehead, she settled in front of her computer and opened her Internet browser. She had to start thinking about this rationally. Adrien had asked her on a date—said he'd enjoy her company, more specifically. That had to mean, by some stroke of logic, that he—to some capacity, anyway—liked her. He'd asked her to a wedding. That meant she'd have to prepare somehow. A couple of clicks, and she had a To-Do list hovering on her screen.

A dress. That was probably the easiest of anything. She could make one herself. Shoes were easy to find, too—she could save up for a pair with her allowance or babysitting money. Or, if desperate times really called, she could beg her parents for some of her payment from Jagged Stone. Sure, it was on reserve until she was eighteen, but this was an emergency, wasn't it? And Alya could do her hair for her. It'd probably be in exchange for every last detail of the wedding, but it would be worth it. Alya could work miracles with a curling iron.

Then there was training. At least, that was what she called it. Manners, carrying herself and conversations, and—she gulped—learning to dance.

"I bet I know someone who could help you with that," Tikki piped up with a giggle. Marinette blushed and tapped her bag for Tikki to hide when her father called her downstairs.

Right. She hadn't even told her parents yet.

"Try this for me, would you?" her father asked as she headed down to the bakery. "I'm trying out a new recipe for our almond croissants."

It was delicious—of course—and chewing gave Marinette a chance to put her words together. "Papa, I..." She put the croissant aside. "Did you know there's going to be a wedding in Versailles soon?"

Her father nodded. "They hired me to make the cake, _chérie_. I told you, remember?"

"Oh." She laughed nervously. "Right, right. I, um. I got invited to go. Is it okay?"

"Of course, Marinette. Are you going with Alya? Do the two of you need a ride?" He grinned and twirled his mustache. "I make a pretty good driver, if I do say so myself."

"N-no, I...." She tapped her fingertips together; she could already feel the heat crawling up her neck and draining into her cheeks. "I'm going with Adrien Agreste."

Her father's eyes widened as he put the baking sheet on the counter. "The boy who came to play video games with you?"

"Th-that's him..." Her limbs stiffened.

"Well." His face broke into a gentle smile. "I don't see why you shouldn't go. You agreed to, and he's a nice young man."

Marinette fidgeted in her seat, then leaned forward on her elbows, chin in her hands and an almost-dreamy smile on her lips. "Papa?"

"Yes, _chérie_?"

"What was your first date with Maman like?"

Her father paused for a moment, dusting off his apron and taking a seat across from her at the counter. He rested his chin on laced fingers, as if relishing in the recollection of it all. "It wasn't anything particularly special. We went to dinner together. Then we went to a movie, and for a walk. I suppose you could say it was very traditional." Slowly, his smile came to match hers. "But it was still wonderful. I remember just about every detail of it."

"Did you dance with her at all? Ever?"

He chuckled—she figured only fathers did that. "Only once, and even then I had to take lessons. I kept them a secret from your mother for so long. I was so embarrassed about having two left feet, you know. I only knew one move. The Charleston. It's an American dance that some old friends of mine knew." He got to his feet for a moment, bent his knees, and moved them in and out, crossing and uncrossing his arms all the while.

Marinette giggled behind a hand. She really was her father's daughter after all. "What happened when she found out?"

Her father was still smiling. "She laughed. She thought it was sweet. And then she took off her wedding shoes and did the Charleston with me."

———

_"Tell me something, Kitty."_

_"Anything."_

_"What do you know about dancing, hm?"_

_Chat Noir was poised on all fours atop a Paris building, illuminated only by the streetlights below. His smile, all teeth, was almost as bright. "My lady, if I could, I'd sweep you right off your feet. Waltzing, foxtrot, paso doble. I'm as refined as they come. We could be dancing in the moonlight, you and I. In the sky, even. In fact..." His grin grew, and he leapt from his patrol station to meet her at hers. He looked blacker against the moonlight, somehow. Every inch of him, right down to the hand he held out to her as he bowed and met her gaze. "May I have this dance?"_

_Ladybug's reply, in the absence of music, was a roll of the eyes and a flick to Chat's forehead; still, she couldn't help but smile. "Maybe next time."_

———

A few days later, Marinette had a plan. Maybe it wasn't a _smart_ plan, or at least a well thought-out one, but it was a plan.

She'd already started sketching out dress designs and looked for just the right fabric. She'd set her eye on a pair of shoes. Alya had agreed to And she'd decided to use one of the empty classrooms and practice by herself. That wouldn't be too terrible, would it? Most if not all students would be gone, and Miss Bustier had already given her the okay in the morning. Now, as students were filing out and the classrooms really _were_ empty, a weight started to form in the pit of her stomach. Like maybe she wasn't really alone in the school building, aside from the janitors. Like she was still on display, somehow. It might have been because of the windows.

But she had to try anyway. If she didn't try now, if she spent all her time being afraid of who was watching, she'd never get it. She'd just end up scared off the dance floor at the wedding, too. God, how embarrassing.

With a shaky hand, Marinette left her smartphone on the table and scrolled until she found something that sounded at least relatively formal. Something that could probably be danced to at a wedding. She still couldn't help but glance toward the classroom Windows every so often once the music poured in, but she kept her focus on her feet. Where were they supposed to go again? Wasn't there an order to this? From a distance it always looked like swaying, with a rhythm to it that she couldn't quite follow, even as she wobbled through improvised steps and the floorboards creaked under her feet. At this rate she'd probably never get it, much less in time for everyone to see her. And there was no way she could ask Adrien to help—

Losing focus for that split second had her tripping over herself, stumbling forward and bracing herself for impact that never came. Instead, a hand curled tight around her wrist, and her head snapped up as she landed on one knee.

Adrien was standing there, smiling demurely. "I think our positions are supposed to be the other way around," he joked, but he quickly looked away. He didn't let go of her hand; Marinette caught the barest hint of a blush on the tops of his cheeks.

Before she could stammer her way through a sentence, he was helping her to her feet and... lacing their fingers together? And guiding her hand to his shoulder? And _resting his on her waist?_ Her heart began to race. Were her hands sweaty? Was she gripping too hard?

"Like this," Adrien murmured just over the crescendo of violins, and tugged her to lean into each step. Shoes squeaked, floorboards creaked, and Marinette was dimly aware of the moments her fingertips pressed harder against his knuckles. They made boxes with their feet—awkward on her side, calculated and practiced on his—and her eyes were glued to the ground, as if that were the only way she could keep from stepping on his toes. But then Adrien began to count off under his breath, _one-two-three-one-two-three_. And she began to count in her head, and mustered up the courage to meet his eyes. She would have to, eventually. No one ever waltzed with their head bowed.

"You're good at this," he commented, tugging her into a turn. His hand slid to the small of her back, perhaps out of respect. Marinette caught a glimpse of the windows. No one had passed by.

She blushed. "B-Beginner's luck?"

Adrien hummed. "Maybe. Just trust me enough to lead, okay? Follow my steps."

She'd follow his steps to the ends of the earth, but she didn't dare say that out loud. Instead, she took a step forward instead of back, and her toes bumped against his. The apologies poured from her lips, and Adrien only grinned and led her through to the end of the song. "Practice makes perfect," he said, untangling their fingers. His hand slipped from her back, and she missed it almost immediately, as if she wasn't going to feel it again within the next week and a half.

Practice made perfect. Unless she was practicing imperfectly.

———

When Adrien didn't have photoshoots or any other extracurricular activity that his father had shoehorned him into, he stayed after school and helped Marinette practice. He practically insisted on it, in spite of her constant reassurance that he didn't have to waste his time on her. "I like wasting my time with you," he said, like he really meant it; Marinette could have dissolved right then and there. 

They never ventured beyond the classroom, but it was just as well. It was all the space they needed for simple steps and the occasional turn. He came in with new music and new steps, mentioned offhand that before he started coming to the middle school, charm school lessons were part of his curriculum. It had never really gone away; Marinette was kind of grateful for it. Even in street clothes he was every bit a gentleman, with his delicate grip on her hand, the way he took the lead, he way he encouraged her under his breath, as if he never actually meant for her to hear it.

If this was practice, she wasn't sure she was mentally or emotionally ready for the real thing. Adrien, in a suit, still a gentleman, proud (really? proud?) to be alongside her in front of all those important adults. The thought of it had her slumped against her locker whenever he bade her goodbye. She tried to convince herself that it was because she was intimidated by the "social situation" aspect of it, but really, who was she kidding?

Most of the time she distracted herself by counting up her savings for her new shoes, or chipping away at putting her dress together. Not even homework or talking with Alya on the phone distracted her in quite the way she needed it. Maybe it was because they didn't really relate to the wedding. She didn't know, exactly. Thought processes were always weird like that.

The rest of the time, she counted her box steps, with or without Adrien. Admittedly, she'd been getting better. He'd noticed, and pointed it out the last time they'd practiced together. He said he thought it was surprising, how much thought and dedication she was putting into this for just one night. But then he smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and said that maybe he really shouldn't be, that being dedicated and thoughtful was simply who she was.

That afternoon, like many before, he left her stuttering and weak at the knees.

She was really only able to compose herself when Chloe walked into school the next morning, cooing, " _Adrichou_ , we have to talk, you and I."

If Marinette thought just a little more positively, Chloe's voice might have had the potential to not sound like nails on a chalkboard. But that was an if too big even for her. Would it have been too big for Ladybug? She didn't know. All she could do was slump back in her seat beside Alya, while Adrien—ever the gentleman, but patience visibly growing thin—moved to humor Chloe.

"The wedding in Versailles on Saturday, _Adrichou._ You're going, aren't you?" She was leaning over his half of the desk now, batting her eyelashes the way she did whenever she aimed to get whatever she wanted and would take nothing short of a yes. Marinette, in the meantime, chewed at her nails. Had it really come so fast? Was it really only a few days away? She hadn't quite finished the dress, and she still needed to buy her shoes, and...

Adrien sighed. "Of course I'm going."

"Then you and I just have to go together." Chloe had that tone in her voice, the one she got whenever she was about to ramble on about plans she had made, with little consideration for the others around her. Sabrina was already taking notes behind her, tapping away at her tablet. "My father plans to leave at 8am on the dot, so we'll be sure to pick up you and your father then—"

"Chloe..."

"We'll sit together at the ceremony, of course. And the reception, we'll have to dance together at least twice—"

"Chloe."

"—And I've heard the catering is to _die_ for. The cake, not so much. They certainly could have done better—"

"My _father_ ," Marinette cut in bitterly before Adrien could, enough that he even turned to look at her with sympathy in his eyes, "has made amazing wedding cakes. This one won't be any different."

Chloe smirked. "Sure, Marinette. The same dull cake as always. I'd say it's a shame that you won't get to see it at the ceremony, but..." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger and made no attempt to hide her laughter behind a hand.

Before Marinette's blood could boil any more, before she could open her mouth to shoot back words she didn't quite have a grasp on, Adrien reached back and covered her hand with his. "Actually," he said, silencing both of them, "she will." He smiled and squeezed her hand, and Marinette suddenly felt very lucky that she was sitting down. "Won't you, Marinette?"

This time, there were no pillows to scream into, so she held her stomach and nodded meekly. It was almost worth the satisfaction of seeing Chloe mentally put two and two together, then huff and stalk all the way to her desk while Miss Bustier took attendance. 

Marinette asked to use the bathroom instead, and shrieked into her open palms once she was secure in a stall.

———

_"And what about tonight, my lady?"_

_"What about tonight, Chat?"_

_"Don't be shy, Ladybug." Chat Noir was grinning as he leapt from one rooftop to another, the air still fresh from his Cataclysm and her Lucky Charm. "The offer to dance. It's still open, you know." He took a sweeping bow, again, and held his hand out to her, fingers curled and ready to encapsulate hers._

_Almost as if on cue, the pawprint on Chat's ring began to blink, along with the dots on Ladybug's earrings; where Chat's face fell, Ladybug's broke out into a sly grin._

_"Not tonight, kitty," she said, slipping out of Chat's grasp and leaving him with the same words. "Maybe next time."_

———

Marinette's stomach surged with butterflies the moment she woke up.

Saturday. It was finally Saturday. The sun hadn't come up yet, and Alya was still asleep next to her with a bird's nest of hair and her glasses on the nightstand table. But Marinette knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep any more if she tried, so she slipped out of bed and down the stairs and paced. Paced, thinking about the dress, about the shoes, about her hair, about how Adrien had agreed to pick her up at nine, because the wedding started at eleven and it was currently—she sneaked a peek at the clock on her computer—quarter past five.

She groaned and collapsed in her desk chair. Better to be awake too early than too late, she supposed.

By the light of her desk lamp, she spared a glance at the opposite corner of the room. A pair of black pumps sat delicately upon the box they'd come in, and beside them, the dress she'd designed hung, practically begging to be put on already, on her mannequin. Dark red, stopped right at the knees, the right amount of lace and flourish on the bodice and neckline, cinched at the waist with a thin black belt so the skirt flared just so. Simple. Modest. Exactly what she'd envisioned.

Alya, who offered to spend the night and help her get ready the next morning, had screeched when she'd put on the outfit last night. "You look _gorgeous_ ," she'd gushed when Marinette twirled on the balls of her feet, wobbling even in three-inch heels, and let the fabric swallow up her fingertips. "I'm surprised you don't wear a lot of red, you look amazing in it." She snorted. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you looked just like Ladybug in a getup like that."

Marinette froze, then laughed nervously. "Right, right. Ladybug."

"But anyway," Alya went on, "Adrien's not gonna know what to do with himself when he sees you."

A blush spilled onto Marinette's cheeks. "You think so?"

"I _know _so."__

__Even now, as Alya stumbled down the stairs half an hour later, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and tugging her mess of a hair into a makeshift bun, she looked like she knew it. She offered Marinette a sleepy grin. "C'mon, you bag of nerves. Hop in the shower and we'll get to work on your hair."_ _

__It took time, and patience, and a lot of heat, but Alya managed to style Marinette's hair in loose ringlets. Alya shushed and soothed her while her teeth worried her bottom lip, and she accented the look with a simple headband. " _Voila_ ," she said, stepping back and kissing her fingers as though she'd created something perfect. And Marinette thought, as she stared at her reflection and brushed a curl with a knuckle, that she really had._ _

__The rest was simple, and yet agonizingly long. Pulling the dress on and zipping it up just right. Slipping into the shoes and walking around in them without breaking either or both of her ankles. Picking at a breakfast of bread and cheese and fruit that she hoped she wouldn't throw up later. Waiting, waiting, _waiting_ for nine o'clock to roll around._ _

__It was almost a godsend when Marinette finally heard a knock downstairs, and she probably would have kicked off the heels if it meant she could have gotten to the door faster. Alya only gave her an encouraging grin and waved from the trap door, and her parents were probably already downstairs at the bakery. Marinette was sure they'd seen Adrien, and only hoped that they hadn't given him a hard time, or asked to take pictures._ _

__She might have imagined it, but Adrien looked like he was frozen as soon as she opened the door. She could have been projecting; she was pretty sure she'd frozen herself. Of course she'd seen Adrien in suits before, but those were always in magazine pages and spreads. Never in real life. Never _tangible_ to her. Her heart leapt up to her throat, and if Alya could still see her, she was probably gloating silently._ _

__Adrien was the first to speak. "U-um... hi." (Had he ever stuttered? Let alone in front of _her?_ )_ _

__Marinette was sure she was blushing. "Ah! Adrien! Good morning," she managed to say after stumbling over her words no less than five times._ _

__"You look..." Adrien cleared his throat behind a hand. "Did you make that dress?"_ _

__Feeling a little more confident, Marinette nodded and twirled around on the balls of her feet, amazed that she hadn't tripped. "Do you... like it?"_ _

__Adrien managed a smile—"It looks wonderful"—and offered his arm to her. She took it, shakily, and together they walked to the car waiting for them outside. Her parents didn't take any pictures then, but her father winked and said he would meet her there. (Of course he would take them there. It was inevitable, wasn't it?)_ _

__The driver and Adrien's father's assistant—Nathalie, Marinette thought her name was—were kind enough to take the front seats and roll up the partition, but Marinette spent the whole almost-hour drive tense, pigeon-toed, with her fists jammed in her lap and her eyes glued to the scenery outside. Maybe these shoes were a bad idea. Maybe saying _yes_ was a bad idea. Adrien and her father had to be the only people she really knew there. What would she say? How was she supposed to present herself? What did she even have going for her? And where was Adrien's father in all of this, anyway? Had he not joined them out of respect for privacy, or his usual distance? She willed herself not to shake, not to pull at her curls or the hem of her dress, and settled for deep breaths instead._ _

__When the car finally parked in front of the venue at Versailles, Adrien walked around to let her out; his eyes sparkled when he extended a hand to her. "I'm really glad you're here," he murmured, so that only she could hear, and she wasn't sure what heated her cheeks up faster—the words he'd spoken, or the way his fingers locked with hers and stayed there as he helped her out._ _

__In spite of it all, it was worth it to see the scowl on Chloe's face when they stepped in, hand-in-hand, sifting through calls of Adrien's name as they took their seats and made quiet small talk until the ceremony began. They caught sight of Adrien's father closer to the front of the groom's side, but before Marinette could ask if Adrien wanted to move closer, she noticed the wrinkle in his brow and the frown that tugged at the corners of his mouth._ _

__She decided not to say anything, and instead sat rigid until the other guests had piled in and the pianist began to play._ _

__When it did, she couldn't help but gasp quietly at the dress Adrien's father had designed as the bride proceeded down the aisle, arm-in-arm with her father. The style of a ball gown, silver and crystal beading, a sweetheart neckline, a silver circlet and a veil that tumbled past her shoulders. If Marinette were meant to speak then, she wouldn't have been able to, either out of awe at the design and handiwork or at the fleeting thought of what she might have looked like in it. It was the only moment that she saw Adrien actually swell with a bit of pride._ _

__She'd heard that ceremonies could go on for hours, and braced herself for it. But it couldn't have gone on for more than an hour or so—an hour that she spent stealing glances at the ornate baroque paintings and architecture the venue had to offer, at what she could see of the bride and groom as the minister went through all the motions, at Adrien with his hands resting gallantly on his knees. Like he wanted to move toward her, or was thinking about it, but didn't quite have the courage to._ _

__Of course she'd entertained enough fantasies about getting married, and getting married to _Adrien_ , to last her a lifetime. But it was different when she was faced with it, with two people preparing to spend the rest of their lives together right in front of her face. All the intricacies of it, the odd stiffness with which they exchanged their vows and slid rings onto one another's fingers, the raw, unmistakable love in their voices when they said their "I do"s._ _

__Would she be able to say that someday? To anyone? To Adrien? Would he say it back? She spared him a glance somewhere in the middle of all the questions, and found him looking at her, too. If he'd looked away as quickly as she had, she didn't notice, but she almost wished she had._ _

__The guests tossed grains of rice on the couple as they exited the venue—a tradition that Marinette couldn't understand even as she took part in it—and Adrien had to reach forward to delicately brush a few from her hair before he took her hand. "Maybe the reception will be better," he whispered, leaning in close so no one else would hear, and she couldn't help but giggle and dust some rice from his suit in return. He led her back to the car for a short drive to the reception—a little less ornate in design but not in guests or food—and somewhere between the bride and groom's first dance and the cutting of the cake his hand slipped down to brush against hers. Like he really was glad that she was here. Beside him. At a _wedding_._ _

__"She's going to throw the bouquet," Adrien said with a nudge and a knowing grin once the dance was over. "Go give it a try. I'll get us some food."_ _

__Marinette could only stutter a few words—"I, what? N-no, I couldn't!"—before Adrien was gone. Surely he had to be joking, but maybe he wasn't. Or, at least, he wouldn't be once he came back and noticed that the bouquet had toppled and landed in her unsuspecting lap. Some of the women squealed; some of them (Chloe among them) scowled._ _

__Adrien turned pink and nearly dropped one of the plates in his hand when he returned. He could barely tell her that her father had said hello._ _

__They picked at their food and made more small talk, sometimes about school, sometimes about the wedding. Marinette could have sworn Adrien had a dreamy look in his eyes when she went on, still cradling the bouquet, about the dresses at the ceremony, but maybe that was just his latent pride in his father again. But Adrien eventually put down his fork and knife, wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and cleared his throat uncomfortably as he got to his feet._ _

__"D'you want to grab some cake and get out of here?"_ _

__———_ _

__"Out of here" was, apparently, a small courtyard behind the reception hall. The grass was still springy from having just been watered, and the tall glass doors allowed them to still see inside, but they were, for the most part, alone._ _

__Of course Marinette's father had stopped to take a few pictures of them before they stepped out. "Your mother is going to be thrilled," he said with a hearty laugh from behind the cake and his spread of pastries, and ushered them to go have a good time. But for the moment, they were seated on a stone bench under a tree—something Marinette would swear had come out of some nineteenth-century novel——with a couple of slices of cake and some mille-feuilles between them. They ate sparingly, taking care not to spill anything on their clothes, entertained only by each other, and the muffled classical music coming from inside, and the wind that rippled through their clothes._ _

__She probably could have spent hours like this. Quietly doing nothing, spending time with each other and alongside each other, brushing fingers and personal spaces._ _

__Adrien was the first to speak, again. "Your dad, uh. He did a really good job with the cake. Everyone was talking about it. You should be proud of him!"_ _

__Marinette managed a weak smile. "I'm always proud of him."_ _

__"Ah..." Adrien shifted in his seat and glanced away for a moment.. "Right, right."_ _

__Before Marinette could regret saying anything, could get too anxious amid all the quiet, Adrien put aside his mille-feuille, rummaged through his pocket, and pulled out his smartphone. Flicking over the screen with his thumb, he tapped a few points on the screen, and a catchy alternative rock song oozed through the speaker as he lay the phone on the bench and pushed himself to stand. He turned on the balls of his feet, gave her a sweeping bow, and lifted his head to meet her eyes._ _

__"Marinette," he said, holding his hand out to her, "may I have this dance?"_ _

__Marinette's eyes widened; if she gasped, she couldn't hear it. Slowly, she reached to take his hand, and wobbled as he pulled her to her feet._ _

__They didn't waltz to the orchestra like they’d practiced. They didn't even waltz to the music coming from Adrien’s phone. They danced like they didn't know how to—and really, she _didn't_ know how to, but Adrien humored her all the same. He helped her out of her shoes, twirled her so her skirt fanned out as she spun, smiled warmly at her as if to encourage her to let loose. _ _

__He didn't need to say anything else. She tumbled, and took his hands in both of hers, spun with him, stepped with him, blew her curls out of her eyes and laughed with him when she stumbled into his arms to music they probably shouldn't have._ _

__Like doing the Charleston at a wedding from twenty years ago._ _

__If people were watching, they didn't notice or care. It wasn't about poise or grace or importance. They were kids. Or, at least, they were somewhere in between. They would have to act like it, wouldn't they? (Had Adrien ever gotten to, outside of that one birthday party gone awry?)_ _

__The flush in his cheeks and the grin on his face told her that he hadn't. That this was all made of firsts for him. That this was something that he was sharing, wanted to share, with her. But she didn't say anything. She only let Adrien Agreste swing and twirl her, barefoot, around half-eaten cake and pastries, a vibrant bouquet of flowers, and a tree that sat too low._ _

__They’d lost track of how long they’d been outside, but the sun was beginning to set, and when they peeked inside, the guests were beginning to clear out to bid the bride and groom farewell. Marinette’s father and the other caterers were working on clearing away the rest of the food, and the orchestra was stowing away their instruments, and, dimly, Marinette felt Adrien squeeze her hand._ _

__“The driver’s probably waiting for us,” he murmured, and he actually sounded sad about it._ _

__———_ _

__The car dropped them off a few houses away, and Adrien walked her the rest of the way to the bakery, like a gentleman._ _

__They had no idea if Marinette’s father had made it back home yet, but Marinette hesitated with each step, almost willing herself to slow down, if only to spend a few more seconds with Adrien. He hadn't let go of her hand, not even during the ride back to Paris, and he’d even scooted a little closer to her in the backseat. Or, at least, she thought he did. She could have been imagining things. She could have imagined the whole day, for all she knew._ _

__Adrien scuffed his heel against the pavement once they actually made it to the door. “So…” he began. “I guess I’ll… see you at school? On Monday?”_ _

__“Ah…” Marinette cleared her throat, and when she lifted her head to meet his eyes, she found him staring at her. Almost like he was never going to get to look at her again. “Yeah, I guess…”_ _

__Oh, God. Did he want to kiss her? Was he trying to build up to it? Her heart was already starting to pick up, and she was getting that weird tunnel vision again, and—_ _

__And he was lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Good night, Marinette,” he managed to say._ _

__Oh. Right. Of course that was all he would do._ _

__“G-Good night, Adrien,” Marinette stammered, all but scurrying into the house and shutting the door behind her._ _

__He’d kissed her hand. And here she thought he might actually kiss her, like, on the _mouth_. Of course not. What was she thinking?_ _

__She had to wash the day off. Put it behind her. It was only one day. It was only one date._ _

__Her father hadn't come home just yet, and Alya was already long gone, but she was sure there were several texts and voice messages to answer to. When her mother stopped her halfway up the stairs to ask her how the wedding was, she squeaked out a “Fine!” and all but ran the rest of the way to her room, shoes in hand._ _

__Well, at least the curls looked nice, even after she’d changed into her pajamas and headed up to the balcony, and Tikki flew out of her pocket bag and into her palms._ _

__“Oh, Marinette,” she cooed. “You looked beautiful today! At the ceremony, and the reception.” She sighed dreamily, lying back against Marinette’s cupped hands. “I bet you’ll never forget this day, huh?”_ _

__Marinette wasn't so sure about that. Those last few minutes made her almost wish she could. Instead she spent a few minutes massaging her temples, encouraged by Tikki’s feather-light pecks to her forehead, until her mother called up to her from her bedroom._ _

__“Marinette! Someone here to see you!”_ _

__Tikki hid away again with a giggle, and Marinette sighed. This day just wouldn't end, would it? And to think that, hours ago, she had hoped it never would. “I’m up here!”_ _

__She was still leaning against the balcony, and almost fell over, when she heard Adrien’s voice behind her. He was still wearing his suit, she noticed when she turned around, and she cringed inwardly. She barely registered that he was doubled over, nearly out of breath._ _

__“Adrien…?” She swallowed hard. “I-I thought you’d already gone home…”_ _

__Adrien took a deep breath, righting himself and running his fingers through his hair. “I… I did,” he said. “Or, well. Almost. I asked Nathalie to let me out.”_ _

__Marinette blinked. “Why?”_ _

__“Because I forgot something,” Adrien replied, and then he was approaching her, cupping her face with shaky hands, and leaning in to kiss her. And that was how it happened. In her pajamas, with almost-perfectly curled hair and her fingers flying up to coil in the sleeves of his suit jacket as they bumped noses and foreheads along the way. It was chaste, and lingered with the taste of custard and frosting and the music they'd lost themselves in, and it was everything and nothing like Marinette had imagined kissing Adrien would be like._ _

__But it was still absolutely perfect._ _

__The first thing Adrien said when he pulled back, hazy-eyed and with his fingertips brushing against a curl, was, “There… that’s better.”_ _

__The first thing Marinette said, still in utter disbelief and out of control and ready for her knees to give out underneath her, was, “D’you want to go to the movies on Friday?”_ _

__Adrien laughed, every bit still like the music and the custard, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Sounds perfect.”_ _

__Marinette sighed—“Sounds perfect”—and giggled when he kissed her nose and said that her pajamas were cute._ _

__Okay._ _

_Now_ the day could stop ending.

———

_"My Lady?"_

_"What is it, Chat Noir?"_

_He looked earnest in the moonlight this time, holding his hand out to Ladybug as he looked at her curiously. Almost like he was waiting for her rejection before he had ever asked anything._

_"May I have this dance?"_

_This time, in the moments before their miraculouses would wear out, Ladybug took careful steps across the rooftops, until her hand was nestled in Chat Noir's, until his fingers curled warmly around hers._

_"Yes, you may."_

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/omnistruck) and a [Tumblr](http://voltisubito.tumblr.com) if you want to follow me!


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